


A Wing and A Prayer

by sunstarunicorn



Series: It's a Magical Flashpoint [54]
Category: Chronicles of Narnia - C. S. Lewis, Flashpoint (TV), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Merlin (TV)
Genre: AU of Day Game, Gen, split personality
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-07
Updated: 2020-04-28
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:07:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 15,886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23529664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunstarunicorn/pseuds/sunstarunicorn
Summary: When Gil Collins takes Greg Parker hostage, he unknowingly kicks off a fierce magical stand-off as the negotiator’s wild side seeks to take control and shunt Parker’s mind and soul to the side – permanently.  Meanwhile, as Team One struggles to negotiate with Gil and retrieve their Sergeant safely, a third party sends the hot call into a tailspin.  AU of Day Game
Series: It's a Magical Flashpoint [54]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/538363
Comments: 25
Kudos: 11





	1. Hot Call at the Stadium

**Author's Note:**

> spoilers for 04x14: Day Game. Pretty much the entire episode. And I am using dialogue from the episode. This story is the fifty-fourth in the Magical Flashpoint series. It follows "Cops and Wolves".
> 
> Although all original characters belong to me, I do not own _Flashpoint_ , _Harry Potter_ , _Narnia_ , or _Merlin_.

The massive sports stadium, settled in a bustling section of downtown Toronto, was normally quiet on the week days, as though the building itself was saving its excitement for the weekends and the thousands of spectators it would house. Indeed, the corridors inside the stadium were so empty, it seemed all but impossible that anything of crucial importance could be transpiring.

In the arena itself, the hanging central scoreboard was lit up, ads flashing across the giant screens though no one was present to observe them. Around the arena, other game night lights glowed, partially illuminating the stadium seats. The arena’s overhead lights were dark, shadows hiding the equipment on the floor, including a silent lift and a tilted cart. On one side of the arena, light shone from the luxury suites built above the first floor of stadium seats.

There was no hint, no sign of the drama playing itself out in the hallways _around_ the arena, as four cops raced to halt a man with nothing left to lose. “Guys, I got a signal. Lower level, north quadrant.”

At the report, Lane picked up his pace, delivering his orders on the fly. “Okay, listen up. This guy knows the terrain. We go in hard and fast. Boss, get him on the phone, keep him occupied.”

“Copy that,” Parker agreed, already dialing.

“What were you thinking, Parker? I had it under control.”

“It looked ragged. I made a call. Why don’t you come on in and we’ll debrief.”

As the negotiator verbally faced off with the subject, his teammates assembled outside the room their target was hiding in, weapons at the ready. “In position,” the team leader announced.

“Well, you know what? Let’s meet up.” Sarcasm echoed in words drenched with disdain and scorn. “I’ll bring my sidearm, you bring your inkblots, we’ll see who makes a better case.”

Team One slammed into the room. “Police! Freeze!”

“SRU!” Wordy yelled, backing his best friend.

But the room was empty, with only a single blinking electronic device inside. Lane knelt, identifying it at once. “Boss, signal relay. He’s not here.”

A clatter of noise drew Sergeant Parker around, bringing him face-to-face with a nine millimeter semi-automatic. He backed off, raising his hands as he regarded the man holding that weapon.

Over the comm, he could hear his team leader. “Greg, come in. Greg.” A pulse of worry thrummed in the ‘team sense’. “Greg, come in. Boss, make some noise.” Horrified realization broke through. “He’s got Greg.”

Hazel blinked closed and opened with a gryphon’s vicious glee.

* * * * *

_4 hours earlier_

As Greg Parker stepped inside the locker room to change into his uniform, he was unaware that his stride and stance had subtly altered to reflect the predator within, rather than the cop he was. His magic churned of its own accord, flickering in his eyes every so often, but the darkness tainting it prevented any one from seeing the magical hues. The Sergeant’s feral half rumbled to itself, considering.

_He_ had the power, while his weak, ignorant human half remained oblivious to the loss of magical control. _He_ was strong, _he_ could dominate by _force_ , while his _pathetic_ human half fought with words. _Words_. If he wished, he could shunt his mewling human to the side…but his Pride would notice. Would fight to bring his human back. And he could not transform – not entirely. Trapped in _human_ form, he wouldn’t be able to dominate his Pride and force them into submission. Unless…

The gryphon’s mental tail lashed as he considered the only magic his human half still held full control over. The links – the _anchors_ forged with his Pride. They remained beyond his reach, immune to all his attempts to wrench them away from his weaker half. All his attempts to subvert the anchors and _twist_ them had failed – and without them, he could not afford to strike. A low hiss emerged…his human _still_ thought the anchors essentially harmless. An annoyance on a good day, but invaluable for finding his Pride when they landed in trouble.

They were so much _more_ than that. Though they hadn’t been so in the very beginning. No, it had only been when his Pride had _accepted_ the links, _accepted_ the magical bonding, that they’d become _his_. By now, their minds, hearts, and souls swam with _his_ power; they could no more exist without the links than they could exist without blood. And so long as the links remained, his Pride could not _leave_ him. Oh, they could travel all they wished, but if ever a member of his Flock thought to _leave_ , the magic within them would act, subtly nudging and influencing until they…changed their minds. Or forgot about leaving entirely. Should they _accomplish_ leaving, the urge to return would remain. A compulsion, growing stronger with every passing _hour_ , until they gave in. If he could _control_ those links, he could _force_ them to submit; his magic would alter their minds until they would _never_ think to challenge him again. They would _never_ think about his weak, _pathetic_ human half – they would _believe_ he was all Greg Parker had ever been.

The gryphon felt his human half reach inward, nudging the links to ‘activate’ them. Eager, he paced around where the links hid, examining their protection for gaps. Nothing. Disappointment pulsed, but the creature had grown used to the feeling; he’d been trying to wrest control of the links from his human half for the past several _months_.

“Morning, Boss.” Yellow.

“Morning, Ed; good day off?”

“Clark and I took Izzy to the aquarium. She loved that central tank they have.”

“The one with the shark?”

“Yep. Then Clark got her to where they’ve got a baby dolphin right now.”

“Didn’t even budge after that.”

Yellow laughed. “Cried all the way to the car three hours later. Clark got to watch the dolphin show, though.”

His human half smiled. “Glad you had a good day off, Eddie.”

“Any warrants on tap today?”

“Nothing I’ve heard about. I’ll ask Winnie – if she doesn’t have anything, maybe we can do some patrolling.”

“Get out and enjoy the day?”

A nod. “Exactly. We’ve got that week of night shift coming up; might as well get some sun while we can.”

His human closed the locker and trailed away, content and humming a song to himself. The gryphon hiss-growled, but low, too low for his human half to register. It was _infuriating_ … _all_ he needed was the _links_ and he could be _done_ with this farce. With playing the tame, subdued gryphon. He turned, regarding the links once more. Beyond his reach…for now. Perhaps…perhaps when his human came under stress once more…perhaps _then_ the protection would falter. Open a gap. _Then_ he could strike. _Then_ he could finally be _free_.

* * * * *

Greg smiled as his team headed for the trucks. Patrolling on a sunny day was no hardship at all – in fact, to be _outside_ and in the fresh air was… He needed it, in ways he couldn’t explain, even to himself. Outside in a forest or open plain would be even better, but outside in the city would do. Part of him wanted to savor the sun and the feel of the wind, but the negotiator just swung himself up into a truck, the corners of his mouth subtly turning down in disappointment. He did, however, roll the window down and lean towards it. Wordy gave him a side-long glance, but let the open window pass without comment as the trucks started and headed for the road.

* * * * *

“Team One, hot call,” Winnie called over the comm about an hour into their patrol. “Armed robbery at Fletcher stadium. Subject has a knife, possible hostage situation.”

“Okay, let’s start making tracks, team,” Parker ordered. “Winnie, any more details?”

“Yes, sir. 911 caller is Decklan Pownell; he works security at the stadium.”

“Copy that; we’ll be there in fifteen.”

* * * * *

Greg swung out of the truck, his focus already on the man waiting for them. The security guard was slightly taller than himself, with a light blue jacket, ruffled black hair in a crew-cut, and brown eyes. The negotiator’s sixth sense prickled; the guard’s demeanor held a trace of guilt – for what, Parker wasn’t sure…yet. “Mr. Pownell?”

“Yeah. You guys gotta get up there, the guy’s crazy, he’s got Roger.”

His teammates were already joining them, armed and raring to go. “Roger a colleague of yours?”

A rough nod and an expression of helpless desperation. “Yeah. He walked in on him, in the money room, and the guy pulled a knife. We tried to intervene, but--”

“Who’s ‘we’, sir?”

“Me and Gil, another guard. We tried to calm him down, but he flipped out--”

Two security guards, in over their heads and afraid for their friend. “It’s all right,” Greg soothed. “Where are they now?”

“A luxury suite. He dragged Roger in there.”

Ed stepped in, handling tactics as his boss started plotting negotiation strategies. “Okay, Decklan, how many people in the building?”

“Small lighting crew. Six security staff.”

“Okay, have them drop what they’re doing and exit immediately. Do you understand me?”

Given a constructive task to handle, the guard’s expression steadied. “Yes,” he confirmed, already reaching for his walkie-talkie as he turned and led the officers into the stadium.

“One subject, one hostage, one knife,” Parker announced as he followed their caller. “Let’s fill in some blanks.”

Inside the atrium, the team leader started handing out orders. “Okay, guys, here we go. Sam, Wordy, take the suite. Spike, CCTV. Jules, Lou, the money room.”

“Copy,” Jules acknowledged as the team split, each hurrying for their assignments.

Ed paused long enough to clap his Sergeant’s arm. “Boss, I’m gonna try to get a Sierra shot.”

Already writing in his binder, Greg didn’t glance up. “Good. Go.” He finished his note, then turned to their security guard. “I need to get through to that suite.”

Pownell was moving almost before he finished. “Yeah, follow me. There’s a phone in the security room.”

Inside the security room, Greg swept down on the phone, dialing the number his companion reeled off. The phone rang and rang…and rang… Finally, with a frustrated noise, the negotiator let the receiver drop and swapped tactics. “Sam, he’s not answering. Give him a nudge.”

Over the comm, he heard Sam pound on the luxury suite’s door, calling, “Sir, this is Sam Braddock from the Police Strategic Response Unit. We need to talk to you, please answer the phone.”

There was a more distant scramble that the Sergeant couldn’t quite make out, but Wordy’s dry, “He’s not too keen on talking, Boss,” filled in the blanks. So much for the luxury suite phone.

Philosophically accepting the curveball, Greg switched to his next source of information. “Copy that. Spike, let me know when you got eyes in.”

Spike’s voice was as cheerful as ever, but his boss detected strain and disappointment. “Yeah, two-hundred twenty of them, but none where we want them.”

_What?_ Incredulous, the Sergeant turned towards Pownell. “There’s no camera in there?”

“They’re executive suites. These guys like their privacy.”

_Wonderful._ “Eddie, what do you see?”

From his sniper, he heard the usual sounds of Ed setting up his rifle. Seconds later, the team leader’s report flowed in. “Not good, Boss, glare and shadow.” Surprise rolled down the ‘team sense’. “Hang on. Boss, we got a bogey. We got a security guard on the balcony.”

The negotiator’s eyes narrowed and he swung towards Pownell again. “Guys are still out there?”

“Gotta be Gil, everyone else is accounted for. He must’ve took cover on the balcony.” Even as the guard spoke, his cell phone began to beep at him. He pulled the phone out and stiffened at the caller ID. “Sir, it’s him, Gil, calling.”

An uneasy feeling settled in his gut, but Greg took the phone and answered. “Gil. This is Sergeant Greg Parker, I’m with the Police Strategic Response Unit.”

Further deepening his uneasy feeling, the security guard on the other end didn’t sound surprised. He sounded calm, steady, and unconcerned. “Hello, Greg Parker.”

“Are you safe?”

“Yeah, I’m hidden.”

“Hey, buddy, can you get out of there?”

There was a flicker of hesitation. “No, they’re between me and the door.”

Fair enough. “Okay, Gil, can you tell me if the hostage is harmed?”

“No, no, no. He looks fine. He’s just scared.” Then, as if this was something Gil handled every day, he reeled off, “Subject is Caucasian, 5’ 10”, dark hair. I heard him call himself Danny. He’s got a seven-inch blade, I think it’s a bowie knife.”

Unease built, but Greg knew better than to let it into his voice. “Gil, that’s very helpful. Thank you. Spike, see what you can do with that.”

“Got it, Boss.”

Switching his attention back to their trapped guard, Parker instructed, “Okay, Gil, I need you to stay low, stay quiet, all right? We’re gonna get you out of there.”

Almost before he finished, Gil countered, “Hey, sarge, I think I should talk to this guy.”

‘Sarge’? Something was _wrong_ ; he wasn’t this man’s superior and yet Gil’s words and tone indicated some…familiarity. Familiarity with _him_. “No, I don’t want you to do that.” Let a well-meaning amateur negotiate with a man volatile and unstable enough to take a man hostage and then rip a phone out of a wall? No, that would end in blood and tears for all concerned.

Faintly, through Gil’s phone, he heard the subject mutter, “It wasn’t supposed to go like this.”

“No, no, no. I hear remorse. I think I can get through to him.”

Remorse was not enough and Gil was _still_ a well-meaning civilian in over his head. “Gil, that’s a negative. One wrong word and he could escalate. You gotta trust me on this here, buddy.”

Thankfully, their would-be hero backed down with a soft, “All right.”

“Thank you,” Greg replied, emphasizing his relief at Gil’s surrender. His focus shifted back to his teammates. “Okay, team, listen up. Good news is we’ve got eyes inside and things seem calm for the moment. So talk to me, who’re we dealing with here?”

“Could be a smash and grab,” Wordy offered.

“So he gets interrupted, panics. Eddie?”

“Fits the bill. He’s volatile, he’s got no demands.”

“Yeah,” Greg drawled. “I hear a, ‘but’.”

“Don’t know, the place isn’t exactly a liquor store, right.”

Point. Before the Sergeant could speak, Jules cut in. “Boss?”

“Yeah, Jules?”

“Money room’s three floors up behind an unmarked door.”

“Cameras, keycard entry, regenerating password,” Lou reeled off, picking up smoothly before handing it off to Jules again.

“And that’s all before you even reach the safe.”

“There goes the smash and grab,” Wordy remarked, not at all troubled by the utter collapse of his theory.

It still didn’t fit, though. “So he’s high-tech on the way in, hunting knife on the way out?”

Spike offered up their next piece of evidence. “Boss, I got a partial off CCTV and matched it to the description. Our subject is Danny Lucic. Drugs, assault. Mostly small-time. His one star turn was an attempted robbery at a credit union, and he took a teller hostage at knife-point.”

Knife. Matched their subject’s MO. “How did that end?”

The bomb tech’s words were delivered matter-of-factly, avoiding the emotional punch. “Teller got a punctured radial artery and Danny got three years’ hard time.”

Not good. Their subject knew the system, knew what he was looking at, and he was clearly just as volatile _now_ as he’d been during his credit union robbery. A tactical response was looking better and better, particularly if Danny wouldn’t negotiate. Even as Parker sorted through their options, he heard the distant sounds of a scuffle over the phone, coupled with closer sounds that _had_ to be their helpful security guard. “Sergeant, we got a situation.”

Ed’s report only reinforced that. “Whoa. Gun in play. Gun in play.”

“Gil, talk to me,” Greg urged as the struggle grew louder.

“No, no, no,” Gil hissed; he was moving – not good. _No, stay_ hidden _, you idiot!_

“I said stay put,” their subject spat; Parker cringed as hyper-sensitive hearing caught the sound of a knife finding its mark. This call was getting better and better by the second.

“Freeze right there!” The Sergeant bit back a curse – what had happened to staying _put_?

“No visual,” Ed reported.

“Gil, talk to me, please.”

Over the phone, he heard the subject growl, “Back off.” He didn’t need to be there to envision the scene. Danny, with the injured guard held tight, knife up against his captive’s neck; Gil, opposite, with gun raised and ready, but no target…not unless he wanted to risk hitting his coworker.

“Okay, calm down, mister. Just relax.”

“Gil.” The word grated, but still hid _most_ of the negotiator’s irritation.

“Back off. Back off or he dies.”


	2. You Get That From a Movie or Something?

Sergeant Gregory Parker came close to throwing Pownell’s cell across the room at Gil’s opening line. “My name is Gil Collins and I’m here to help you.”

_What_ movie _did you get_ that _one from?_ _This_ was why Greg hadn’t wanted the well-meaning civilian _amateur_ to poke so much as his _pinky_ finger out of hiding – between what he suspected had been their _hostage_ making a move and Gil trying to be a hero, this call was on a collision course with _people getting killed_.

As if to confirm his dark thought, the subject snapped, “You take one more step forward and I will cut his throat out.”

Pleasant; Gil was off to an _excellent_ start. Not. “Eddie, what do you see?”

“Our civilian’s gone cowboy. He’s charged in there with a big piece. All I got is his back. We breach now, we are right in the line of fire.”

Greg frowned; he’d figured the gun in play was _Gil’s_ , but… He turned to Pownell. “You guys carry guns?”

The security guard’s eyes went wide. “I’ve never touched a gun in my life.”

Gil’s voice drew Parker’s attention back to the fledgling negotiation. “Okay, just calm down. Look, I’m gonna put the gun away. Okay? I’m putting it down.” A holster creaked and the negotiator closed his eyes, _focusing_ on the phone line, _listening_ to every word, every nuance. “Now, listen to me. That man that you’re holding, his name is Roger. He’s a friend of mine, this would be a lot easier if you just lowered the blade a little.”

To himself, Greg murmured, “He’s humanizing the hostage.”

There was a faint mumble from the injured man, prompting a sharp, “You keep your mouth shut! And you back off,” from their subject.

Parker’s frown deepened; Gil was pushing the subject too fast, too hard. “I’m not coming closer, I swear,” the security guard replied. “Okay? You have my word. I just wanna talk. Okay? Can we just talk?” There was silence for an instant. “Okay. Thank you.”

Loud enough for his team to hear, the Sergeant reported, “Subject’s de-escalating.”

“It wasn’t supposed to go like this,” their subject babbled.

For an amateur, Gil’s response was mostly good. “I understand. Your name’s Danny, right?”

“How’d you know that?”

Greg flinched, anticipating another escalation, but Gil recovered. “I was just outside, I overheard.”

Danny seemed to accept that, for he returned to pleading his case. “It wasn’t supposed to go like this. It was supposed to be fast. No one around.”

“But you haven’t done anything that can’t be made right. All right? So let’s not change that. Let’s just work this out, okay?”

Hazel opened a sliver – _that_ choice of words…‘can’t be made right’…it was _his_. Danny’s anxiety grew…the negotiation was too fast, too hard. “I gotta get outta here,” the trapped subject muttered. Volatile and right on the edge.

And Gil kept right up with his mix of good and bad, almost as if he’d had _some_ training, but…incomplete… Or self-taught. “All right. I wanna help you with that. I’m just gonna talk to some people on the other end of this phone.”

“Police?” Internally, the professional negotiator groaned again…why had Gil _deliberately_ drawn attention to his active communications?

“Yes, police, okay? But they’re just gonna make sure we all get out of here unharmed. Look, it’s what they do. It’s their job, okay? Just, let me talk to them. I’m not gonna move, I’m just gonna talk.”

There was a clamor, but Gil’s soft, “Sergeant?” kept Greg from hearing it all.

Nothing to be done; Gil had successfully inserted himself as the call’s negotiator. Parker never let even a hint of his dismay, disapproval, and irritation into his voice. “Yeah, Gil, you’re doing great. Is Roger hurt?”

“Affirmative, abdominal penetration.” At least Gil was still providing good intel, even if his negotiating left much to be desired.

Smoothly, Parker switched gears. “Okay, team, we got a wounded hostage. Eddie, entry options.”

Ed’s response was half-expected, but a blow nonetheless – Greg did _not_ want this situation to escalate any more than it already had.

“We got a gun, we got a knife, we got a cornered subject, we are half-blind. Alpha, you have got to get eyes in there now.”

“Pole cam from the suite above,” Sam suggested.

“Sam, do it now. Quick and quiet.”

Leaving Eddie and his teammates to handle the tactics, Greg returned to their negotiation amateur hour. “Gil. We’re working out a solution here, buddy. You just keep Danny calm.”

“Will do.”

“Let him know, I’d like to talk to him, but don’t pressure him. Let him set the pace.”

Annoyance came from the other end. “Okay, I got it.”

“And don’t promise him anything.”

Gil’s annoyance morphed into a sharp reply. “I said I got it. You do your job, I’ll do mine.”

Parker jerked back from the phone, an automatic frown crossing his face. Gil was acting as if _he_ was a _member_ of _Team One_. As if he had _authority_ over an active police sergeant. And worst of all, as if he was a _much_ better negotiator than he _actually_ was. _This is not going to end well…_

“Winnie, EMS here?” _We’re going to need them._

“Standing by,” the dispatcher reassured her boss.

Jules’ report broke in next. “Boss, Lou found a keycard at the scene. The log shows a direct route from the outside into the money room. It’s gotta be how Danny got in.”

Greg’s blood warmed with a lead. “Who is it registered to?”

“No, it’s a blank,” Spike explained. “After-market. If you know the system, you can make a skeleton key.”

_If you…_ “If you know the system,” the Sergeant echoed grimly.

“That’s where this is leading to,” Lou agreed solemnly. “Sophisticated, pre-planned.”

Jules overlapped with her teammate. “Either Danny’s seriously upped his game…”

“Or he’s got help,” the negotiator finished. Without skipping a beat, he handed out new assignments. “Okay, Jules. Known associates, family history.”

“On it.”

“Lou, meet up with Sam; you deploy the pole cam while Sam gets back in position with Wordy. Three people on entry – you’ll be getting in each other’s way.”

“Copy that.”

“Spike, you check the stadium employee list for priors. See who pops.”

“Copy.” Scarlatti paused an instant. “Boss, the break-in’s all over the security tape. If you’re looking for an accomplice, you might wanna start with who was working the monitors.”

An excellent point. Not betraying his thoughts, the officer bent a considering glance at the security guard waiting for instructions. “This your post, Decklan?”

“Yeah. Why?”

“You on shift this morning?”

Guilt flickered, intensified. “Okay, look, I took a cigarette break. It was ten minutes, I swear to gawd.”

Parker stiffened. “You left the monitors unattended?” His mind raced, new ideas and theories bouncing.

Shame joined guilt, even as Pownell weakly protested, “Yeah, but… Look, you gotta believe me. I don’t know anything about this. I mean, Roger’s a friend of mine, why would I do this to him?” Greg stared at the man, letting his gryphon side out, just a smidge. “I should have listened to Gil.”

Unease pulsed, his sixth sense tingling anew. “Gil?”

“He caught us smoking this morning. Started nagging us about doing our job.”

New puzzle pieces rose, slowly fitting together. “This happened today?”

Pownell shrugged. “Happens all the time. We just blew him off. I mean, that’s Gil. He takes everything so seriously.” He stopped, guilt and shame intensifying. “Officer, I screwed up.”

Yes, he had, but Greg knew all too well that Pownell’s own conscience would torment him more than the negotiator ever could. “We’re gonna get your friend out of there, Decklan. It’s okay.” The Sergeant turned away, a fresh idea gaining traction. “Hey, Spike. Our guy Gil, he knew the monitors were unmanned.”

“Well, funny you should say. He just came up.”

Instinct thrummed. “Criminal record?”

But he knew…even before the bomb tech replied. “Other side of the ledger. He was a cop. Gil Collins. Looks like he’s been off the force a couple of years.”

“Explains the piece,” Ed mused.

“And the language,” Jules agreed.

“Yeah, but from cop to this?” Lou questioned.

Spike’s agreement rang. “I’ve heard of quitting the force for the private sector, but…”

From cop to ‘unarmed’, low-paid security guard – and at an age when Gil’s career should have been booming, a cop rising through the ranks or making his name as a beat cop…his team was right, it made no _sense_.

“Okay, Jules, let’s pull up his police file, see who we’re dealing with here.”

“Copy.”

Gil’s voice broke into the mix. “Sergeant? Danny has some demands he’d like to pass on.”

Demands…something they could work with, something they could _stall_ with. “Okay.”

Over the line, he heard their subject raise his voice, almost yelling. “I want a bulletproof vest. And I want a car. No, motorcycle. I want something fast!”

All right, what movie had their _subject_ been watching? Did he _honestly_ think he was walking _away_? “Okay, I got it, I got it. Gil, negotiation’s good, that’s a step forward.”

“And they have twenty minutes. And I want a clear path, no cops. I see anyone and I’m gonna finish this guy off. I swear to gawd.”

The fresh demands made Parker wince internally. They needed _time_ , not a jittery, knife-happy subject who thought he was going to get one over on the cops. “Just keep him talking,” Greg instructed. “Tell him we’ll do our best. Just keep him engaged.”

Gil didn’t respond, not directly. “They’re working on your demands, okay? I’m--”

“Hey, hey.” The subject wasn’t the only one to tense – what was Gil _doing_?

“I’m just gonna go stand here, okay? It’s all I’m doing.”

Mentally, the negotiator griped about big shot ex-cops who thought a few years on the force made them _negotiators_ and also thought they could get away with bouncing all over the place during said negotiating. His eyes flicked towards his team leader…if Gil _moved_ …

“Lou, I’m losing visual.”

Hang it all!

Lou’s response tumbled down the comm, steady even as he ran. “Two minutes.”

“They have twenty minutes,” their subject yelled.

Not particularly wanting Gil to negotiate any more than necessary, Parker intervened. “Hey, Gil, how’s Roger doing?” Distantly, he heard someone coughing, great wet coughs that meant nothing good.

As if to back his hearing up, Gil replied, “Faster’s better, Sergeant.”

“I copy that.” Time for a little prod of his own. “Hey, you never told me you were police, Gil.”

Annoyance and something else – bitterness? – rang in Gil’s retort. “Hey, I got a little bit on my plate here, Parker.”

Touchy. Easily provoked. Greg held his silence as he considered the puzzle of one Gil Collins. As if on cue, Jules came back on the comm. “All right, Boss, Gil Collins was a cop on the rise. Breezed through the Academy. Couple commendations of merit, but after a few years on the force, things took a turn. Run-ins with superiors, insubordination. Got busted down. Terminated about two years ago.”

“What grounds?”

Jules sounded slightly disappointed. “Not specified. Unfit for duty.”

“I got something else for you, Boss,” Spike sang out, not to be outdone. “I checked Gil’s passcodes against the log. About three minutes before Danny entered the building, Gil walked the exact same route to the money room.”

“Clearing a path,” the veteran cop concluded.

“Sure looks that way,” Jules agreed.

Another idea poked through. “Hey, Spike, where was Danny arrested for that credit union job?”

Seconds later, the bomb tech replied, “Dundas and Dovercourt.”

Jules confirmed her boss’s theory. “Fourteen division. Gil’s beat.”

The pieces fit, every last one of them. Greg’s attention turned to the rest of his team. “Okay, team, listen up. Things are getting fluid here. I’m thinking Gil is our inside man.”

Ed’s voice never left a sniper’s calm, but confusion buzzed in the background of Parker’s awareness. “Okay, Boss make that make sense.”

The scenario played out in his mind’s eye even as the negotiator spoke. “Okay, let’s say he set this whole thing up, it’s a two-person job, he needs a bagman. So where does he turn?”

“His cop past,” Wordy filled in, though there was something hovering right on the edge, as if his constable was trying to slot a clue in place.

“And Danny’s got the perfect MO,” Greg continued, “so Gil makes contact, keeps it anonymous and he tells him he’s got a big score for him.”

“Sets him up with a keycard and map,” Spike offered.

The Sergeant nodded. “When no one’s at the monitors, he cues Danny and they’re on their way.”

“A perfect inside job,” Ed breathed, onboard with his boss’s theory. “So the question is, what is he doing now?”

That was easy. “Covering his tracks, eliminating his accomplice.”

“Or he got cold feet, wants to put the brakes on,” Jules offered. Greg tilted his head, acknowledging and accepting her idea.

“Lou, I need eyes,” Ed demanded.

“Seconds away,” Lou hissed back.

Less than thirty seconds later, Parker heard Gil’s soft, “We have a visual.”

“Visual’s up,” Lou reported, saving Greg the trouble.

“Routing it to you right now, Boss,” Spike called.

Greg turned, his eyes landing on the monitor now showing the interior of the luxury suite…and his breath caught. Gil Collins was his height, with black hair in a brushed back crew cut, dark eyes, and a snub nose. His stance was all cop, confirmation of his past, with an intense expression that Parker couldn’t quite read through the distance and the camera’s grain.

And… “I know him.”

“Who?” The question from Ed rang, both in the headset and through the ‘team sense’.

“Gil. The cop.” A young cop, on the rise… “Winnie, Gil Collins, he ever try out for SRU?”

Winnie’s reply clinched it. “Gil Collins. He did, twice, we have a file.”

Sharp, the Sergeant ordered, “Jules, get down to the station, pull that file. I want everything we have on that guy. Psych eval, fit-for-duty tests, all of it.”

“On my way.”

Before he could go farther, Gil spoke up again. “Danny, I got a proposal. You let Roger go, I take his place.”

“Why the hell would I do that?” Derision and scorn soaked each word and Greg snapped around, returning to the negotiation.

“What are you doing, Gil?” A trade was _extremely_ dangerous under the _best_ of circumstances – which these were _not_.

“Look at him, he’s hurt real bad, you don’t want him to die.” Pushing, Gil was _pushing_ again.

“How many times do I gotta tell you to stay back?”

Enough. “Gil, I need you to stop engaging and back down.”

But Gil couldn’t – or wouldn’t – take the order. “I got this, boss. Trust me. Look, he dies, this goes really bad for you.”

Tension spiked on both ends of the phone. Gil was _not_ a negotiator, _not_ a member of Team One – for crying out loud, he wasn’t even a _cop_ any more. And Greg was _not_ his ‘boss’! If he were, he could’ve reamed Collins out for _escalating_ an _already_ escalated subject!

“Hey, I’m warning you!” Fear lurked in the subject’s sentence, but Collins didn’t seem to register it.

“Let him go, he gets patched up, you take me, it’s all good.”

It would do no good, but he had to try, had to stall. “Gil, you’re scaring him.”

“Alpha team, less lethal.” Mentally, Greg blessed Eddie for being so quick on the uptake.

“Copy that. Rubber bullets,” Wordy confirmed, stepping into his own role as backup team leader.

“Ready,” Sam confirmed, his tone grim.

“Gil, please listen to me,” the negotiator begged. “You are losing him. He will attack.”

The former cop didn’t listen. “I’ll not let that happen.” A shade of darkness lingered in that tone, determination – misplaced, but present nonetheless.

In the background, the subject’s howling rose to a fevered pitch. “I will cut him, and I will cut you. I will cut his throat!”

“Gotta move, Boss, we gotta move now.”

“Alpha team, go. Now, now.”

“Sam, gun; I’ve got knife on three,” Wordy ordered. Silence, then, “One, two, three!”

* * * * *

“SRU!” Wordy bellowed as he kicked in the door.

“Police!” Sam roared next to him.

“Everyone down!”

“Drop your weapon!”

The ex-cop’s hand flew back, reaching for his gun; Wordy left him to Sam, focusing on their primary subject and his wounded hostage. The subject reared back, caught off guard by the entry, but recovered, far too quickly.

“No!” he howled, raising his knife.

“No!” the ex-cop yelled. Wordy caught a flash of a raised weapon, then the report echoed. He and Sam both fired, rubber bullets impacting subject and security guard alike. The injured security guard collapsed, a fresh wound in his shoulder. Gunshot. Another round came from Sam’s direction, then the big constable was by the gravely injured hostage.

“Hostage took a round, Sarge. Our security guard fired.”

Behind him, Wordy heard the ex-cop breathe, “You breached. You startled him, I had no choice.”

“Drop your weapon!” Sam roared.

“I had no choice!”

“I said drop your weapon! Drop your weapon now!”

Wordy twisted around, but their would-be hero finally dropped his gun; Braddock bent to retrieve it…right as their primary subject recovered enough to run.

“Oh, no, you _don’t_ ,” Wordy snapped, grabbing the subject’s arm. Sam latched onto the other side, his expression just as fierce. Naturally, that was when _Gil_ decided to run. Towards the balcony.

“Subject on the move,” Ed called.

Sam darted after their runaway, leaving Wordy to handle the knife wielder. “Hey, stay where you are. Gil, stop right there.”

Wordy heard the sounds of someone swinging over the balcony and cringed. Whatever crimes Gil had committed weren’t worth _dying_ for. His teammate called, “Gil, give me your hand. Come on, don’t risk it. Here. Don’t do this, Gil.”

But apparently their rogue security guard knew what he was doing…and it _wasn’t_ a one-way trip with a sudden stop because the tenor of Sam’s words changed from plea to order. “Gil. Gil, stop!”

Grim, Wordy snicked the cuffs in place on their first subject. “Subject secured. Get EMS in here.”

As he spoke, Sam raced past him, on the trail of their security guard, but Wordy had a feeling Collins had given them the slip. A feeling that was confirmed when Sam’s frustrated, “I lost him,” came over the comm. “Spike?”

Spike’s reply was just as frustrated. “He’s in the blind spots. No, wait. West, maybe.”

“Can you get a lock on his cell phone?” Ed asked.

Frustration vanished into determination. “On it.”

Over the radio, Wordy heard his boss talking to their 911 caller. “Decklan, what was in the safe today?”

Pownell’s shrug was audible. “Some register floats. Maybe a thousand bucks.”

A thousand bucks? Not much of a big score. “And on a big day?” Sarge pressed.

“Game night? Probably a C$150,000 goes through there.”

Mentally, Wordy whistled, already putting fresh pieces together. Ed’s question was almost surprising; the big constable wasn’t used to being quicker on the uptake than his best friend. “What are you thinking, Boss?”

“I’m thinking this wasn’t about money. I’m thinking this was about being a cop again.”

Spike sounded incredulous. “He set this whole thing up so he could stop it?”

“Step in and save the day,” Ed mused.

“Prove that he’s SRU material after all.”

It made sense, but then…why run? Wordy shivered, suddenly wishing Sam had been able to catch Collins. Because what did Collins have left now that his gambit had failed, utterly?

The darkest parts of his soul answered.

Revenge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On a RL note, talk about zero to sixty! Monday was quiet, but then I got a call on my cell Tuesday morning demanding to know why I wasn't on the 7:30 AM call that they hadn't sent out invites to until 7 PM Monday night! I guess I'm supposed to be available 24/7, especially since these 7:30 AM calls are going on for the rest of the month and I just got an email that I will need to be on a call that's from 9 PM to 3 AM. Ugh. But I bet I'm supposed to be available all of today and continue to keep setting up my computer as well as taking the required eLearning courses.
> 
> Please pray for me, guys. I'm not used to all-nighters or being on call like this. Part of me wants to hope this is just for the start, but I suspect it's just the beginning. So much for the 'max' of 10 hours per day narrative that my manager was pushing yesterday...


	3. The Rookie, The Veteran, and The Gryphon

Over the comm, Greg heard Ed enter the luxury suite, his focus and attention on their now subdued subject. “Danny, who set this up?”

Sam pressed in as well, backing his team leader. “I know you didn’t plan this. Who did?”

Though Greg strained to hear a response, there was none.

The sniper’s attention turned to the uniforms. “He talks, you let us know. Go.” Even as the officers pushed their captive out of the room, Eddie turned towards Wordy and the EMS tending their former hostage. “How’s he doing?”

“Not good,” the big constable reported. “He’s lost a lot of blood.”

“Guys, I got a signal,” Spike called. “Lower level, north quadrant. He’s not moving.”

“What’s down there?” Eddie demanded.

“Storage room.”

“Could be digging in,” Parker suggested.

Through the ‘team sense’ and over the comm, he heard his teammates start to move, Ed already reeling off orders. “Let’s go. Okay, listen up. This guy knows the terrain. We go in hard and fast. Boss, get him on the phone, keep him occupied.”

Already dialing, Greg replied, “Copy that.”

The phone rang twice, then Collins picked up, fury and resentment seething. “What were you thinking, Parker? I had it under control.”

_Yeah and I’m the Queen of England._ “It looked ragged, Gil, I made a call.”

“I had him,” Collins spat. “You screwed it up.”

Dark amusement coiled in his chest and Greg absently swatted the gryphon back down. _Not now._ “Listen, Gil, why don’t you come on it and we’ll debrief.”

Sarcasm joined the resentment, festering in the air between them. “Oh, now you wanna debrief? Okay, how about this. You know what? There was a time when a cop just had to be a cop. Now he’s gotta be a shrink too.”

Internally, Parker winced. In a way, he understood, he really did. With so many specialties, so many niche roles, how was a young cop to find his feet? Why couldn’t he just be proud to be a beat cop? Why couldn’t cops just do what they were _good_ at, instead of learning how to be, as Collins put it, a shrink?

“Is that what this is about, Gil? Maybe there’s room for both.”

But the SRU expected more. The SRU _demanded_ more. Jules hadn’t pulled those files yet, but Greg already had an inkling of what they would show. Great tactical scores and lousy negotiation potential. Collins could have been any kind of cop he wanted to be…except SRU. Because to be SRU _meant_ to be a negotiator. _Meant_ to be the _best_ – _every_ member of his team knew how to negotiate in a pinch. Knew how to handle a rifle for a Sierra shot. Knew how to run tactics if need be. Knew not to hesitate if he gave the order…even if that order was to back down and let someone else take over.

Over the comm, Ed hissed, “In position.”

Still seething, Collins retorted, “You know what? Let’s meet up. I’ll bring my sidearm, you bring your _inkblots_ , we’ll see who makes a better case.”

The sounds of entry echoed, followed almost instantly by Ed’s frustration spiraling through the ‘team sense’. “Boss, signal relay. He’s not here.”

Signal relay. With a signal relay, Collins could be anywhere in the building. “Still with me, Gil?”

Smugness rang; Collins knew they’d found the signal relay, knew they didn’t have him cornered – yet. “Yeah, can’t talk right now, Parker. I got places to be.”

“He’s playing us, Boss,” Ed growled. “New plan. Drift net. Vertical line, one per floor. Let’s move.”

As the new plan swung into action, Jules came back on the radio, her words thoughtful as she relayed what she’d found on Collins thus far. “Okay, Gil Collins first tried out for the SRU four years ago. Tactical scores were off the charts, psych eval came up short. Tried again the following year, same results. After that, he just spiraled. Fights with partners. Problems at home. Divorced.”

Greg paced, frowning at the intel; inside, his wild side seemed to squirm, but he didn’t have time to give the gryphon more than a passing thought. “You talk to his ex?”

“She’s on her way here now,” Jules replied. “There’s something else, Boss. He filed a grievance against you.”

Parker jerked to a halt, both sides of his psyche caught off guard – in the back of his mind, the gryphon trilled inquiry. “I don’t remember that.”

“Well, it was dismissed,” his fellow negotiator explained. “It didn’t get high enough up the chain for you to be notified.” Greg frowned, a foreign sound nudging at his hearing. “Here’s the thing, I don’t think that today is about proving to the world he’s a good cop. It’s about proving it to you.”

The door behind him burst open and Parker turned. Gun. Up and aimed at him, with Collins’ sneer right behind it. He raised his hands and backed away, Pownell mimicking him. “Just like you, Parker. Code red and you’re still holstered.”

“Gil. Dude.” Pownell and he had surprisingly good timing because Greg Parker suddenly had the fight of his life on his hands. His wild side was screeching outrage, clawing and struggling to get loose, control his response. Iron will clamped down, but Greg could already tell…it wasn’t going to be enough.

“Shut it, Decklan. Over here, on the floor. Hands behind your head. Move!”

The terrified security guard obeyed, scuttling to a corner right by the police Sergeant; he knelt, hands rising to behind his head. “Okay.”

Surveying Pownell with satisfaction, Collins threatened, “Stay there or he dies.” Tainted red flashed in hazel eyes, vanished even as Collins’ attention returned to his primary target. “Turn around.” Parker, wrestling to keep from letting his fangs show, didn’t move; Collins’ voice rose and he gestured with his weapon. “Turn around.”

The Sergeant obeyed, closing his eyes and summoning a fresh surge of will to slam his wild side into a rough mental cage of sorts. The gryphon howled and fought harder, able to sense when Greg’s gun left its holster, able to hear Collins ejecting the magazine. _No, no, no, not now. Please not now._ His headset was pulled away, the radio following; grimly, Greg clung to his ‘team sense’, reversing it in an effort to alert his team without Collins catching on. But as the gryphon began to claw out of its cell, Parker was forced to flip the ‘team sense’ back, desperately clinging to his team’s support to hold off his magical attacker.

“You’re smaller than I remember,” Collins murmured. Although he refused to react, Greg heard the man back away, out of range. A fresh wave of gryphon fury swept through him, but the negotiator set his mask in place and merely lifted his chin. “Turn around.” As he obeyed the order, Collins asked, “Do you remember me?”

“Yeah, I do, Gil. Wanna talk about that?” Talk would be good. Talk would put him back on steady ground and let him buy enough time to alert his team to _both_ their problems. Of which Collins was the minor.

“No,” the other man yelled, stopping in the middle of putting Greg’s headset on. “You don’t get to talk. You only get to talk if I tell you to talk, do you understand?”

“Yeah.” Best not to provoke the situation further – it was already bad enough. As if in agreement, the gryphon screeched-snarled inside his mind, _demanding_ to be let loose, _demanding_ to _deal_ with the Not-Pride human who _dared_ to threaten it.

The former cop pulled out a pair of flex cuffs and held them out. “Wrists,” he ordered coldly, tilting his head at Pownell. “Him.” Loathing rang, directed towards both captives. Greg’s hesitation was automatic, but also a stall to give him just one more _second_ to kick his wild side back down. Collins’ voice rose again. “Tie up his wrists!”

Reluctantly, Parker reached out, taking the flex cuffs and going over to Pownell. As he fastened the restraints in place, he heard Eddie over the headset. “Boss, what’s the status on our backup?” The Sergeant reached for the ‘team sense’ and heard his inner gryphon hiss…eager and waiting to pounce; he didn’t _dare_ reverse the ‘team sense’ _now_. “Spike, Parker with you?”

“Negative.”

_Come on, guys, catch on._

Fear shot through him, but not his own. Ed’s. “Greg, make some noise.”

Collins, though, was no fool. Even as Parker straightened, the former cop was holding out the headset. “Tell him I’m headed south.”

_No chance._ Calm, refusing to be shaken, the negotiator replied, “I can’t do that, Gil.”

Without even flinching, Collins aimed his weapon at Pownell. In the depths of his mind, Greg cursed. Collins knew protocol, _knew_ Greg now had no option _but_ to obey. “South across the bowl,” the former cop instructed. “Tell them.”

One chance, one shot. Parker took the headset, sliding it back on in time to hear Ed’s sternly controlled, “Greg, talk to me.”

“I’m here, Eddie. Subject is headed south, repeat, he’s headed toward the south end of the bowl.”

“Okay, Team One, you heard the man. Stop the sweep. I need everybody to regroup on level one.”

_Now or never, Parker._ Without allowing either his voice or his face to twitch, Greg added, “Backup’s on the way, Ed, so move with caution and stay frosty.”

Dead silence. Horror spiraling through him. Fear and panic flooding his veins. Eddie’s conclusion was almost unnecessary as the ‘team sense’ went crazy.

“He’s got Greg.”

* * * * *

As the Sergeant removed the radio again, he heard his team leader clearly. “Guys, switch channels. Spike?”

“I’m here, I heard it.”

Regret ran through Greg at the next order, even as he knew it was critical. “Get Parker’s headset offline now.”

Sadly for him, Collins had already cottoned on. He inspected the nearby monitor – the lobby with his entire team, bar Spike and Jules, in a hasty conference about what to do next. “Isn’t that interesting? You told them to head south, but they’re not complying. Is it frosty, Parker?”

About all he had left was stalling, so Greg replied, “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Dark amusement shone. “The distress code. Is it stay frosty?”

A rueful smile flickered, right along with his magic as the gryphon renewed its struggles to get free. “Yeah.”

Thankfully, Collins missed his eyes turning scarlet. “Thought it was a little odd talk for you,” the former cop mused, turning his attention back to the monitor. Greg’s own eyes fixed on the screen, suddenly desperate for every last glimpse he could get of his guys. The animal inside him was pushing hard, fighting with more than just its own savagery; he flinched as mental claws dug in, his own magic backing the blow.

_What’s happening to me?_

* * * * *

Fear blazed through him, but he wasn’t about to let that interfere now. Ice blue fixed on his teammates, all of them just as furious as he and every last one of them willing to _kill_ to get their Sarge back. “Word and I go to the last point of contact. Sam, Lou, underground parking. Spike, you watch those exits. Every door, every window, he does not get out of here with Parker, do you understand me?”

Spike’s own ferocity rang. “Copy, Ed.”

“Let’s go.”

_You can’t have my friend. I won’t_ let _you._

* * * * *

“And of course, here they come.” Amusement and a smidge of resignation.

“Listen, Gil, buddy, whatever you’re up to--”

“Shut it, Decklan.”

Greg heard the strike and forced himself back into the situation, straining to fight a war on two fronts. “Gil? If we got stuff to work out, let’s just focus here, okay?”

Collins snapped to him, fury blazing and his voice a venomous hiss. “If you had let me work it out in the other room, none of this would be happening.”

_What?_ “What’s happening, Gil?”

“Plan B.” For a second, the antagonists locked gazes. Then Collins advanced, gun still raised, but his tone turning casual. Smug. Mockery in every movement. “Let me ask you something. How’s your hand-to-hand? Think you can, uh, disarm me?”

Greg’s eyes flicked down to the weapon, inner gryphon already planning the counter. One hand on the barrel, shoving it down too fast for the _insolent_ human to fire, the other fist flying into Not-Pride human’s jaw, right before his fangs extended for the _kill_. Parker could win, of that he had no doubt – Collins was strong, but a _gryphon_ was stronger. But could he keep from killing?

“No, I don’t.” Soft, with his eyes down to hide the gryphon’s rage at his surrender.

Collins didn’t seem to notice his inner struggle. Mockery turned to pseudo disappointment. “See, that’s too bad,” he drawled. “Because we’re gonna go for a little walk, and I was really hoping that you would try.” Gesturing with his gun, Collins held up another pair of flex cuffs. “Turn around.”

Without protest, Greg obeyed. Flex cuffs couldn’t hold him, not on their own.

“Hands down. Behind your back.”

Again he obeyed, even as the gryphon clawed at his will once more. Dread touched him. Because the flex cuffs couldn’t hold him any more than _he_ could hold the gryphon.

He barely heard Collins’ next taunt. “Let’s go for that walk.”

* * * * *

Even expecting it, the Parker-free monitor room was a blow. Without hesitation, Ed raced to the only man there – their 911 caller. As he freed the man, he asked, “You all right?” When Pownell nodded, the team leader demanded, “Which way did they go?”

“Up.” Pownell pointed past Ed at one of the monitors and the sniper’s blood ran cold. Greg. On the catwalks above the arena. What on _Earth_ was Collins planning? What was he going to do to _Greg_?

“Sam, Spike,” Wordy ordered, “Two rifles, stadium floor, now.” His head swung towards Pownell. “Stay here.”

Ed threw himself at the door, trusting Word to be right behind him.

_Don’t you_ dare _die on me, Greg. You do not have permission to die._

* * * * *

Internally, he was fighting like mad to stay in control, to keep his wrists from jerking out to the side and _snapping_ the flex cuffs like twigs. Right before he taught the young _punk_ behind him a _real_ lesson in tactics.

Externally, of course, was the young punk in question, hissing into his ear as he was shoved down a catwalk. “After you flunked me, I got my hands on my evaluation. Go left. You remember what you said?”

“No.”

“Six years of my life, thousands of hours on the range, in the gym, in the psych manuals. You don’t remember what you said?”

“Sorry, Gil, I do a lot of evaluations.” Understatement – for some reason, _he_ was considered the SRU’s top negotiator…which meant he was constantly on tap for evaluations for other teams. Frankly, he considered it a blessing that Team One had remained virtually the same since Sam’s arrival.

Collins didn’t seem to get it. Resentment, carefully nurtured and festering, reeked in every word. “ ‘Good tactical. Unfit to negotiate.’ ”

He had to try, had to give the hurting, furious man behind him _something_. “Gil, you have to understand, we get a hundred applicants a year, that’s a lot of great candidates turned away.”

“Five words, Parker.” Rage, covering loss and grief. “You used five words to ruin my life. Move. Move!”

Greg obeyed, praying that Collins’ ‘little walk’ would end before he lost control. Because, the truth was, it was no longer a matter of _if_ the gryphon took control, but _when_. He was stalling, as much as he could, but somewhere along the line, his wild side had gotten a hold of virtually every _scrap_ of magic he had. Forcing him to face a grim reality. Even a Squib-born’s magic is effective against no magic at all.

* * * * *

Dread flooded him as he gazed down at the ladder and the top of the stadium’s central hanging scoreboard. Collins was attaching one end of his cuffs to his vest – an improvised carabiner, he’d bet six months’ worth of paychecks on it. The only positive was that his wild side, upon sighting the upcoming descent, had retreated, whimpering and whining like an infant gryphlet. Cold comfort in the face of what he was about be forced into.

“Down we go.”

Parker swallowed hard at the order. “Gotta tell you, Gil, I’m not crazy about heights.”

Collins’ gun angled towards his face. “Overcome it,” he sneered.

How he made it down with his hands cuffed behind his back, he wasn’t quite sure, but the Sergeant managed. Unfortunately, once he was down and on the scoreboard platform, the gryphon was right back at it, clawing its way free, shrieking in disdain and fury. He forced it back once more, panting as the effort drained him. Collins calmly attached the other end of his cuffs to a waiting rope; Greg might’ve tried to negotiate, but he had nothing left.

Hazel flashed a tainted scarlet, fading as Greg Parker fought, a moan escaping as he hunched in on himself. Collins sneered, still completely unaware of the battle going on within his captive. And in a hidden pocket of Parker’s uniform, beneath his inner bullet-proof vest, an ancient pendant flared to life, its power building rapidly.

“I’m disappointed, Parker,” Collins taunted, thrusting his captive to the edge of the platform, holding him steady as dark eyes swept the floor. “I thought you would’ve asked me what I’m doing by now. Not that you’d appreciate it. It’s tactical.”

Tactics that sent the gryphon scuttling for the inner recesses of his mind, wailing mortal terror. Parker gasped, reeling at the sudden relief. Temporary, but he was taking every little _scrap_ he could get now. In another world, another life, he _would_ have negotiated, _would_ have begged Collins not to dangle him off the edge. But he couldn’t afford that…couldn’t _risk_ letting the gryphon loose. The irony was bitter – Collins was about to protect _everyone_ …from _him_ …

Through the ‘team sense’, he caught his team’s arrival. Casual, confident, Collins remarked, “Oh, sprint shoot. My best drill. Two hundred yard dash, setup their rifle, dead-center at target at a half-mile.”

_No…Eddie, no…don’t shoot him…don’t do it…_

“Sorry, Parker. Problem is, they shoot me? They kill you too.”

Alarm shot through him – Wordy and Spike. Distantly, he heard their yells to hold fire. Then Collins shoved him, almost sending him off the ledge – his feet still touched the metal, but his entire upper body was hanging over thin air. He had just one anchor left. Collins.

The question fought its way free, the last vestiges of the negotiator he was _supposed_ to be. “What do you want from me, Gil?”

Mockery, arrogance, and scorn – each was hurled at him as he fought to hold the line against his wild side. “Thought that was obvious. I want a lesson. You got an agitated subject bent on revenge. So show me how it’s done, Parker. Talk me down!”

In the depths of his soul, the gryphon snarled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I forgot to announce on Friday that I was posting an Easter story. For those of you who saw the new story on Sunday (April 12th, 2020), I heartily congratulate you. And now...turning to the ordinary human beings who are left... On Sunday, I posted "Sorrow Shared", which is a Spike-centered story set after 04x07 "Shockwave". I hope everyone enjoys (or enjoyed).


	4. I Could Have Done It

Greg craned his neck to glance down, shivering internally at the drop below him. Inside, the gryphon scuttled back, more afraid than him, but also… He shuddered. It had tasted blood. It knew he couldn’t win. It wasn’t going to back down this time. And maybe… Maybe he should _use_ that.

Hazel shifted back to Collins and he growled. Low, but audible. _Come on, you coward, come and_ get _me._ The gryphon’s fury echoed and he went limp. Terror flooded him as awareness faded. He heard himself snarl, felt his body move on its own, writhing and fighting to get loose, to get at Collins. Heard Collins’ breathless curse as the gryphon forced him to hold the rope more firmly.

“What the hell, Parker?”

Then the rope slackened and the gryphon fled, wailing its own terror. Greg gasped as his chest expanded at _his_ own command, his body stilling its frantic movements. “Gil,” he rasped. “Gil, you got to listen to me. You can’t let me up. You can’t let me get loose.”

Another curse. “Whatever you’re trying to pull, Parker, it won’t work.”

“Not…not trying anything.” And he wasn’t, not any more. To lose _physical_ control of his body had terrified him, thrown him into a panic that made his fear of heights, his fear of the gryphon, look pathetic and trifling in comparison. To feel his _awareness_ fade… A shudder ran through his whole body.

Though rattled, Collins returned to his goal. “Assessment time, Parker. What do you make of the subject?”

He drew breath and it came out as a snarl. Fury burned, flooding him as the gryphon fought the flex cuffs. But what would have been simple on solid ground was impossible whilst dangling fifteen meters up off the ground. Muscles strained, but failed to gain leverage. He couldn’t see, couldn’t hear…all he could register was the gryphon, controlling him so completely, he couldn’t even muster the faintest of struggles. His head tipped sideways, glimpsing the ground, and the gryphon fled once more. Realization crystallized, right along with his _only_ remaining course of action.

“…rker? Parker? What the _hell_ is going on with you?”

His words were shaky, misery and fear rattling. “Threat level red, Gil. You have to consider me threat level red.”

“You’re joking.” Collins’ eyes narrowed. “I’ve got you tied to a _rope_ , dangling off the edge of a _scoreboard_ and _you’re_ threat level red?”

“Yeah,” Greg breathed. “I am, Gil.”

“If this is some _trick_ to get me to let you _up_ , it’s _not_ working!”

“ _No!_ ” He yelled the word. “Gil, you _can’t_. You _can’t_ let me up.” The gryphon’s plans swam in front of his vision. “If you do, I’ll _kill_ you, Gil. I won’t be able to stop myself.”

“Don’t play games with _me_ , Parker; we _both_ know you can’t beat me hand-to-hand.”

“Gun,” Parker rasped out, “Pushed down, fast, too fast for the target to react. Fist, right to the jaw, knocking the gun free and making the target reel.” His eyes closed. “Fangs, straight down, into the artery. Death in less than a minute.”

Collins sneered, but he was shaken. “What? You a vamp now, Parker?”

Fury erupted, his fangs extending as his eyes turned pure _gryphon_. His back arched, defiance and rage fueling a kip-up, somehow executed despite his lack of leverage and contact with the platform.

Collins yelled as his captive surged towards him, fangs and gryphon eyes _impossible_ to miss. Reflexively, he swung up on the rope and kicked, his strike throwing the gryphon back. It screeched terror, then Greg had control once more, panting as the fresh impact asserted itself.

Desperation fueled his own yell. “ _Now_ do you believe me, Gil? The _only_ thing protecting you right now is that _rope_ and the height.”

“The height?” The ex-cop’s voice trembled.

“Yeah, Gil, the height.” A sigh broke free. “ _It’s_ more afraid of heights than _I_ am.”

* * * * *

It was a lie, it had to be. Parker was just trying to trick him, that was it. But as Gil Collins watched the bane of his life go wild again, thrashing, snarling, and baring fangs – _fangs_ – at him, the doubts crept in. And now that he thought of it, he finally put his finger on something he hadn’t even realized had been bothering him. Parker’s eyes.

When he’d been an eager beaver first applying to the SRU, heck, even the next year when he’d tried again, Sergeant Greg Parker had struck him as an ideal superior. He listened, catching every nuance; he’d encouraged Gil to speak his mind – if not for those tricky scenarios, trying to make him second guess himself, tripping and fumbling as he struggled for the right answer, he might’ve liked the older man. Might’ve applied to _his_ team.

Five words had devastated his life, but even more devastating was the thought that _Parker_ didn’t see him as a _good cop_. He wasn’t good enough for the SRU, for _Parker_. He hated the man with a passion because, even if only for a moment, he’d looked up to him. Wanted to be _just_ like him – calm, confident, in control, and with that oh-so-elusive compassion in his brown eyes.

The compassion was gone now, buried by rage and wildness and _hate_. But drop Parker a little further _down_ and that compassion reappeared, untainted by whatever demon had taken over Parker’s body. Fear gleamed, too, but the compassion burned as bright as ever in those scant moments.

“Gil,” Parker gasped out, his upper body swaying from the momentum the demon had imparted. “Do you still have your phone?”

“Yeah.” His voice was fearful and shaky – what if whatever had possessed Parker came after _him_? Suddenly, his Plan B was feeling like the worst idea he’d ever had in his entire _life_.

Then the phone rang.

* * * * *

_Jules._ It had to be – with his capture, Team One had only one negotiator left. Swallowing hard, Greg looked Gil Collins in the eye as much as he could. “Pick that up and tell her to put Eddie on.”

Collins frowned, his arrogant, narcissistic personality pushing its way forward again. “You think you can tell me what to do, Parker?”

The Sergeant forced himself to jerk upwards, pushing up enough to let the gryphon take control again. His world closed in, body once more leaving his control; he heard the snarls, felt the helpless, outraged burning _fury_ , vaguely felt himself writhing and thrashing around his tether. Reality faded, right along with his awareness, black closing around him like a vice.

“All right, all right!” The rope gave just a millimeter more as Gil’s voice shattered the blackness. “I’ll do it, just…just stop doing that.”

“Would if I could, Gil,” Greg rasped, panting for breath.

Gil answered the call, words direct. “I want to talk to Eddie.” He listened a moment and his next sentence was a venomous hiss. “You put Eddie on the line _right_ now or I’ll drop him. I swear I’ll do it.”

Huh. Maybe he should’ve recruited Gil to play the subject in all SRU practice negotiations…the man certainly had a flair for the role.

* * * * *

“He wants to talk to me?” Ed echoed incredulously.

“Ed, that’s not all; he specifically demanded to talk to ‘Eddie’.”

Greg’s nickname for him. Oh, the rest of his team used it as well, but Ed was fairly sure Collins had gotten the nickname from _Greg_. But if all Collins wanted was _Greg_ , why was he suddenly demanding to talk to _him_?

“Okay, Jules, put him on.” As soon as the call clicked, he spoke, firm and steady. “This is Constable Ed Lane.”

Collins huffed. “You’re Eddie?”

“Greg uses that name sometimes.” Not a hint of his _dislike_ for a _subject_ using his nickname made it into his voice.

There was a moment of silence, as though Collins was trying to pick him out on the ground. Then another huff. “Listen, you watching me? Or Parker?”

“You,” Ed grated out.

“You’re one of the two on rifle, huh?” When the team leader didn’t respond, Collins laughed harshly. “Look, you move your scope onto Parker for a minute, okay? I promise I won’t drop him.”

Ed didn’t trust the man, but he gamely shifted his rifle, trusting Sam to keep his scope on Collins. “What do you want, Collins?”

“I want you to watch,” the other hissed.

Then Greg was jerked upwards; not much, just by a centimeter or so. And promptly went completely, utterly wild. Snarling, thrashing, fighting to get free; Ed even caught a flash of gryphon fangs. Realization crashed down, a bucket of ice water, and he swore, uncaring that Collins could hear him.

The gryphon was loose. And Greg couldn’t beat it this time.

* * * * *

As Greg panted for breath again, he heard Ed’s voice clearly. “He wanted you to call me. Why?”

Gil shifted uncomfortably, unsure of what to say. Before the man could fumble his way through a reply, the Sergeant raised his voice. “Eddie, stand down. Both you _and_ Sam.”

The former cop froze, his head snapping in his captive’s direction. He _knew_ tactics, he _knew_ what Greg’s order meant. Licking his lips, he told the team leader, “He says to stand down. You and Sam.”

“I want his OMAC code,” Ed retorted instantly.

A wan smile peeked through. “Agent, manager, same difference,” Greg called, thankful when Gil wisely repeated him, word for word. As soon as Gil finished, the Sergeant met his captor’s eyes as much as he could. “Let him do it, Eddie. You do _not_ , I repeat, _do not_ have Scorpio.”

“Boss…what are you saying?”

* * * * *

Collins swore and Greg went crazy again, the gryphon’s helpless struggles painful to see through his scope. Ed forced himself to watch, forced himself to witness his friend’s pain and anguish as the gryphon tore his life apart more thoroughly than Collins could ever _hope_ to. But to give up was anathema – to _let_ Collins _murder_ one of the best friends he’d ever had…he couldn’t do it. Even if Greg ordered it, he couldn’t do it.

Greg’s movements slowed as Collins dropped him another fraction; the gryphon backing off once more. Damn it, _damn_ that _thing_. If Ed could’ve ripped his boss’s Animagus form away in that moment, he would’ve done it. Without so much as a lick of hesitation.

“Ed?”

He looked up into Wordy’s concerned eyes. “Word, look at Greg,” he hissed, careful to keep Collins from hearing him. “The gryphon.”

“It’s loose,” Sam concluded, glancing over at Ed’s startled freeze. “You wouldn’t be panicking if it wasn’t.”

He was not panicking. He was not panicking. He was not… “He ordered me to let Collins kill him.” How had _that_ made it out of his mouth?

“He _what_?” Wordy and Spike demanded, near simultaneously. 

* * * * *

The ‘team sense’ writhed within him, almost as much a living being as the gryphon. Fear, disbelief, horror. But it was getting worse; each time he dropped, the gryphon hid for less time. Each time, his control and awareness faded more swiftly. Each time, his body went more numb, sensation returning more slowly.

“Ed?” he called, no longer really registering Collins, save as his bleak hope of salvation. “Don’t…don’t let me hurt anyone else.” Images of every time he’d gone lethal in his gryphon form flashed across his eyes. The close calls with Izzy, with his nephew, even with Briggs. “Don’t let it kill again,” he begged.

Ed’s voice was a lifeline, tugging him back to reality. “Greg, there’s _got_ to be another way. Look, we can…we can keep you restrained, call in help to get this thing locked up again.”

“Flex cuffs aren’t going to do it, Eddie.” And there was something else, skating right at the edge of sanity – somehow he _knew_ the gryphon had _plans_ for his team…for _its_ Pride.

“We’ve got the runic cuffs, Boss.”

“And if I get out of those? What then?” Blood and fury and death, all at his hands. No, he couldn’t let it happen. Even if it meant the end of him.

The gryphon rose again, swallowing his scream of helpless terror.

* * * * *

“Guys, I need a plan here,” Ed announced. “Greg’s right on the edge.” And he didn’t mean the scoreboard platform. “Some reason, some plan that doesn’t end with Greg taking that fall.” Willingly, to boot.

“The kids,” Wordy suggested. “He dies, they lose another parent.”

Ed’s eyes snapped sideways. “He’s their _uncle_ , Word.”

“Oh, come on, Ed,” the big constable retorted, his irritation clear. “I’m not saying he _replaced_ their folks, but anyone who watches them knows he’s _more_ than just an ‘uncle’. An uncle is the cool guy you spend the weekends with; he doesn’t stand over you, cracking the whip to make you do your homework. He’s not the one you run to when you just had a nightmare about being four again and kidnapped off to England.”

Wordy froze – apparently, he’d spilled a bit too much – but Ed understood. He understood and he _hated_ the gryphon even _more_. “Sam?”

The blond sniper’s frown etched itself deeper. “If he can break the flex cuffs, then someone would have to be right up there, keep him from getting at Collins. Collins pulls him up _now_ and…”

Gryphon roadkill – if he was _lucky_. “And if he gets away from us, Sam?”

“Lock down the stadium,” Spike suggested. “We’ve got the job half-done already.”

“Spike, the gryphon’s not going to care if it breaks a window or a door to get out.”

“You want him to die?” the bomb tech demanded harshly. “You wanna sit here and watch that _lunatic_ drop him?”

“No, I don’t,” Ed retorted. “But if we don’t come up with a bomb-proof plan, Greg’s gonna _let him do it_.”

* * * * *

“Okay, Greg, here’s what we’re gonna do. Word and Sam are gonna come up to where you and Collins are. When he pulls you up, they’ll be right there. They won’t let you get away; they’ll get the cuffs on and get you both off that platform. Jules is already headed for the school; Lance helped you get control back once, he can do it again. You and Collins have that little talk he wanted to have, _on the ground_ , and then we all go home.”

A faint smile traced over his jaw – trust Eddie to cover all the bases. “And if this happens again, Ed? What then?”

“We’ll figure it out,” Ed insisted. “You’ll have at least one of us around at all times, Greg; we won’t leave you alone again.”

But they couldn’t promise that. What if it happened in the middle of the night at home? In the middle of driving his car home from work? In the middle of another grocery run? “Eddie, it’s over.” Resignation rang. “I can’t control this thing. Not sure I ever could.”

“You could. You _did_ ; you can do it again, Boss.”

“Was it me, Ed? Or was it my nephew?”

Silence. Finally, a hoarse, desperate whisper. “Greg, don’t do this. Don’t make us watch you die.”

“If this thing gets loose, it _will_ kill, Ed. I can’t stop it, I can’t control it – all I’ll be able to do is _watch_ , Eddie.” Hazel closed, tears leaking through. “I’m a cop, Ed; my _job_ is to protect people. Even if that means protecting them from _myself_.”

Even if it meant being aware each and every one of those fifteen meters to the ground. He’d figured something out about the gryphon, not that the knowledge would help him. It was a _coward_ – if he fell, it would leave him to fall. It would bury its own awareness and leave him to face death on his own.

As if it could sense his thoughts – and it probably could – it snarled and lunged, engulfing and dispersing his feeble attempts to hold it back. His body stiffened, then went numb as _it_ took control. Blackness closed in as raw fury pumped through his veins.

Then he dropped again and registered Ed’s frantic pleading through the Gil Collins relay system.

_Please. Just make it stop._

And he knew, _knew_ with perfect clarity, that _when_ he lost control again, it would be the last time.

_I’m sorry, Eddie…_


	5. Letting Go

“Ed.”

The team leader swallowed, there was no give in his boss’s voice. A decision had been made, one that they’d all have to live with. Or not live with, in Greg’s case.

“I can’t do this anymore. Even _if_ your plan works, I’m a ticking time bomb. No, worse…I’m a mercury switch; I could go off at a random _jolt_. It’s not safe, Eddie; _I’m_ not safe.”

“Greg…”

“No, just listen, Eddie. I don’t have much time left.” A soft pant. “Heh…never thought it would end like this. But Ed, I’m _proud_ of you; you’re going to make a _great_ Sergeant. Better than I ever was. And Wordy’s going to make a great team leader – but let Sam have a turn or two, you hear me?”

“I hear you, Boss.”

“Spike and Lou – they’re two of the best techs in the whole SRU, you tell ‘em I said that.”

“Copy.”

“Jules… Ed, tell her, it wasn’t anything she missed – I missed this, too. That’s my fault, that’s _my_ fault.”

“Greg, it’s not, it’s not.” But Greg was beyond truly hearing him.

“Tell my kids I love them – _all_ of them.”

“I will.” Gawd, it hurt, listening to Greg’s suicide note, listening to his best friend’s last moments alive.

“And Eddie?”

“Yeah, Greg?”

Silence rang, but somehow Ed knew his boss was still there. Then, softly, almost too soft to hear, Greg whispered, “I still don’t regret a _thing_.”

Tears ran freely and Ed wanted to hurl his headset into the floor, but he couldn’t. He just couldn’t.

“Goodbye, Ed. See you on the other side.”

In the next instant, the gryphon snarled and Ed knew – his boss was gone. His _best friend_ was gone. And he still had to give the order. One hand trembled as it lifted to his headset.

* * * * *

Wrong. So very wrong. Stuck in the middle, little more than a message relay, Gil Collins watched his most hated nemesis slowly wither and die, the compassion dimming with each new twist and snarl. But it was the final communication – half goodbye and half suicide note – that tore the former cop to shreds.

Not even a passing thought for how he’d ended up dangling off the edge of a scoreboard, fifteen meters up. Instead, Parker had focused on his team, on his loved ones. On those he _cared_ about. Gil found himself wishing he knew more. Who did each name belong to? Who were Parker’s ‘kids’ and why no mention of a wife? And why, with his fate all but written in stone, would Parker say he didn’t regret anything?

Then the demon snarled and Gil realized. It was _him_ or _it_. There was no in between any more. No other way for him to survive. Kill or be killed. Funny – getting his own way had never felt so…

Empty.

* * * * *

A red jewel blazed brighter and brighter with each surge, with each fresh snarl. And when it could blaze no brighter, it released its pent up power.

Magic roared, slamming not outwards, but inwards.

Into Parker’s magical core. The anchors churned, absorbing the raw magic for an instant before they overloaded. The explosion traveled outwards, snapping the last fragile links between Gregory Parker and his magic. The core itself cracked, the protection around the anchors sundered in that instant.

The gryphon pounced, shrieking triumph.

* * * * *

Ed’s hand, pressing against the headset, froze; his throat locked, refusing to let him speak the words. Beside him, his teammates also froze, unable to stare at anything save their Sergeant. Unable to _do_ anything as Greg _screamed_ for help inside their minds.

Or was it the gryphon?

Ed couldn’t tell any more…

* * * * *

A flash of silver, fletched with red.

Rope snapped.

The gryphon wailed mortal terror as it dropped.

* * * * *

A screech-roar of challenge rang out and a brunet gryphon plunged, wings pinned back as it dove at the falling Sergeant. Aerodynamic lion legs flashed past the scoreboard, talons tucked close to the newcomer’s chest.

A human body can fall at a maximum of fifty-six meters per second. A gryphon, in a dive, can reach speeds twice that. As the humans gawked, the brunet gryphon reached Parker’s falling form in less than four seconds. Claws reached out and wrapped around his armored chest. Then wings flared wide and the gryphon let out a cry of triumph as it pulled out of the dive, gliding effortlessly towards the bleachers. After a moment, wings angled and the mythical creature curved around, gliding in a lazy circle towards the ground. When it drew closer to its landing, the wings flared again, stalling forward movement. Lion paws touched down, balancing the creature for an instant before it released Parker and fore-talons came down heavily on _terra firma_.

Above, in the rafters above the scoreboard, a violet phoenix trilled smugly.

* * * * *

Pitch black. So much darkness. Greg shivered in the depths of his own mind, imprisoned just as the gryphon had been. Couldn’t see anything, couldn’t _feel_ anything; even the ‘team sense’ had fallen silent. The only thing he’d had left…and now the gryphon had it.

_Please…don’t let it hurt my team…_

The utter _nothingness_ around him seemed to mock the faint, plaintive plea.

Air. Whistling around his body as it fell; he heard the gryphon scream with his voice. A screech-roar preceded the sound of a large animal diving. _Illishar…_ He felt claws wrap around his chest, squeezing tight to hold his body firmly. The rush of air slowed as Illishar pulled up, shrieking pure _triumph_ as he leveled out, gliding down towards the ground and safety.

_No, Lancelot…you should’ve let me fall…_

Now the gryphon would get _everything_ it wanted. He couldn’t stop it… _no one_ could. Blood on his hands, _innocent_ blood. And his team…what would the gryphon _do_ to them?

In the next instant, he was back in the blackness, in the darkness, in the _nothingness_. Alone. Cut off. _Knowing_ his team was in danger and he could do _nothing_ to help them. It was worse than death.

And in the depths of his own mind, trapped inside his own body, Greg Parker huddled in on himself and tried not to cry.


	6. Kill Me

Gil Collins gawped in utter disbelief as a griffin, a _freaking griffin_ , shot past the scoreboard, neatly snatching Parker from midair before spreading those eagle wings and calmly gliding for the ground. When had he fallen into the Twilight Zone? When had a simple plan to _prove_ himself to Parker turned into this…this mess, this farce, this utter _debacle_? When had he gone from _hating_ Parker to…trying to save him?

“Weird day, huh?”

Gil yelped and whirled, reaching for his gun. A reach that froze as his eyes landed on the man behind him. Amused brown regarded him from under yellow, cat-like goggles, and a dark blue hood covered the man’s entire head.

“Blue Beetle?” Gil blurted.

The superhero brightened. “You’ve heard of me? Wow, don’t get _that_ much outside of Chicago.” He considered, one hand fingering his weapon…yes, it _had_ to be the Beetle Gun. “Then again…kinda different in your world, ain’t it? Never know who might’ve heard of us.”

Both men glanced over at a yelp and a thud nearby. Gil’s eyes widened as he took in a man with a bow in one hand and a redhead in the other. The redhead was struggling to get away – and _she_ had a bow as _well_. “You’re not going anywhere, missy,” the male archer announced, his voice level and eyes hidden by sunglasses. “Nice shot, though.”

Nice…shot…?

“Hawkeye, lemme _go_ ,” the girl whined.

Wait a sec? _That_ was _Hawkeye_?

* * * * *

Getting surrounded by a group of superheroes wasn’t exactly how Ed Lane had expected his day to go. Then again, he hadn’t expected _most_ of today to go the way it had. He, Wordy, Lou, Sam, and Spike were back to back, each of them warily eyeing their Halloween alter egos who looked perfectly content to keep Team One away from their Sergeant and his nephew.

The team leader landed a glare on Mister Miracle. “Move,” he growled. “Or I go right through you.”

“You may _try_ , Constable Lane,” the escape artist replied calmly. “Our orders are to keep all of you from interfering.”

“In _what_?” Wordy bit out.

“Rebuilding the foundation, of course.”

Ed and Wordy traded puzzled glances. Rebuilding _what_ foundation?

* * * * *

Illishar hissed in fury, looming over his uncle. **_Let him go,_** the young gryphon demanded, tail lashing.

**_He is_ mine _, fledgling,_** the other growled. **_He is weak and I am strong. You cannot make me submit to him_ this _time._**

**_You don’t get to ruin his life._ **

Smug arrogance gazed back. **_You cannot end me, fledgling. Not without ending_ him _. He is_ mine _; his Pride is_ mine _._ You _are_ mine _._**

**_I’m_ his _, not_ yours _,_** Illishar spat. **_I will_ never _submit to you!_**

A stun shot impacted his back; he wasn’t aware of transforming back to human as he fell.

* * * * *

The gryphon hissed as his fledgling was hauled away from him by a man clad all in golden cloth, a small annoying device flitting past the Not-Pride. He made a startled noise when the device fired again, neatly severing the plastic that held his wrists together. In one fluid move, he was back on his feet, intent on retrieving his fledgling, but the device and the Not-Pride forced him away, a transparent bubble pushing him back with no visible effort.

“You won’t get very far _that_ way.”

The gryphon snarled as he whirled. Another Not-Pride human, clad in black and eyeing him, _him_ , with sardonic amusement. He shifted his stance, crouching and baring his fangs, wishing for his wings and tail as he glared at the human who _stank_ of darkness and arrogance.

* * * * *

“See, here’s the thing,” Blue Beetle explained cheerfully, gesturing as he spoke. “Here you are, all mad at Parker. You hate him, he ruined your life, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah. And you _snatch_ him, right as he’s about to lose it.”

“Noticed that part, thanks,” Gil sniped.

“Yeah, yeah.” The superhero’s buoyancy was unphased. “So here you are, all ready to slay the dragon who ruined your life, took your job and your wife and your family away…and it turns out _he’s_ human, too.” The humor faded away into solemn regard. “He didn’t ruin your life, Gil; he doesn’t even _know_ you. He’s got enough problems in his own life without messing with yours, buddy.”

Gil stared at the platform beneath his feet, swallowing hard. Beetle was right. Parker was right. Miranda was right. He saw it now, all too late.

“Hey, hey, hey, don’t be staring at your feet just yet.” Beetle waved past Gil, to the remnants of the rope he’d been using to hoist Parker over the arena floor. “What you did, it wasn’t _good_ , but you know what? You saved his life. You stopped the monster about to _ruin_ him.”

“The demon,” Gil supplied dully.

The superhero blinked, then shrugged. “Sure, that’s as good a word for it as anything, I guess.” One hand swept sideways, open and expansive. “So the point is, you _did_ slay the dragon. Or kept it at bay, just a little longer. Good day’s work, eh?”

Gil stared at the other dumbly.

The blue-clad man sighed to himself. “Oh, well, it was worth a try. Sorry about this, by the way.”

Then a flare went off in his eyes and he dropped, unconscious before he hit the platform.

* * * * *

Maxwell Lord smiled as the gryphon regarded him, growling – if it had had a tail, it would’ve been lashing, agitation clear. He made sure to stay back, well out of grabbing or biting range. The connection was broken; Parker’s magic now completely independent of him.

Perfect.

One hand snuck down, pulling a weapon free of its holster. “You know, you’re not half bad, Parker,” he remarked nonchalantly. “You’ve got a lot more _steel_ than I gave you credit for. Held that thing off for a good while longer than we thought you would. I mean, honestly, I thought that last full moon was gonna be it.”

The creature stiffened.

“He impressed you, too, didn’t he? Or maybe you just didn’t want to take the pain, did you?”

A low, furious growl.

One brow hiked, unimpressed. “Don’t give _me_ that, _coward_. Parker’s taken things ten times worse than _you_ – only reason _you_ won this time is ‘cause you’ve got all his magic. Not exactly a fair fight, is it?”

Agitation grew and Skeets was forced to let loose a blast or two to keep the gryphon from pacing sideways and out of range. After all, _just_ because Max had ordered Skeets to _release_ the gryphon _didn’t_ mean they were going to let it _go free_.

“Still can’t transform, though, can you?” Mockery rang. “Guess that means you’ve gotta fight like a human.”

Snarl.

“Here, let me give you a hand with that. A little tip, no charge.”

Wary pace and growl. Lord winced internally; to see the proud officer reduced to _this_ …to an animal’s gaze, vocabulary, and comprehension. To a predator’s stance and morals – or complete _lack_ thereof. It was an insult to everything Sergeant Parker was and ever had been.

“If you want to _fight_ like a _human_ , you need a weapon.” He knelt, placing the gun he’d drawn on the ground. “Take this for instance.” A dark smirk crept across his face at the way the gryphon’s eyes fixed hungrily on the piece. “Standard sidearm, semiautomatic, full clip. That’s seventeen shots, by the way.” He pushed the weapon, watching it skid across the ground and into the gryphon’s reach. “Let’s see what you make of it.”

“ _No!_ ”

Man and gryphon turned their heads as a new being appeared out of thin air, darkness flaring around it, tainting the air; ruby eyes narrowed and four claws scraping together beneath the cruel vulture head.

“ _What are you doing, my own?_ ” Tash demanded.

Max felt a shudder down his back, then straightened, eyes intent as the part of him that was pure _Coulson_ pushed forward. “My job,” he replied lazily.

“ _Your…job…_ ” The hiss was low, incredulous. Claws flexed open and closed in silent threat.

The smirk was instinctive. “See, you really should’ve remembered something about me, Tash.” Checkmate’s Black King glanced down at his hands as fingertips tapped together. Then he glanced up at Tash again, the smirk widening in vicious glee. “I’m a _traitor_ , that’s what I _do!_ ” One shoulder hiked in a shrug and Max spread his hands wide. “You want to stop me, you got one way. Kill me.”

Tash snarled and lunged for the Shade, but even as he did so, the gryphon voiced its own snarl and snatched up the gun Maxwell Coulson had ever so carefully slid into its range. The demon vanished mid leap, as did Lord and every last one of the other heroes. The model of Skeets fell, lifeless as it thudded onto Lance’s chest.

For a breath, all was silence and mute staring.

Then the gryphon collapsed.


	7. Not the End

“Greg!” Constable Ed Lane threw himself forward, racing flat out for his unconscious boss and nephew. Word was right on his heels, but… “Word, Sam, get up top and secure Collins!” the team leader roared. “He doesn’t get to walk away from this!”

“Copy!” both men acknowledged, breaking off to sprint for the hallways leading to the catwalk.

“Spike, check the kid! Lou! Monitor room! Make sure Pownell knows to keep his mouth shut!”

Lewis sprinted after his other two teammates, Spike detouring to Lance’s side; Ed only had eyes for his boss. He skidded, letting himself fall forward onto his knees as he reached the still form. “Don’t be dead, don’t be dead,” he begged under his breath. “Come on, Greg, don’t be dead.”

* * * * *

Alanna half-sobbed as she sat next to the unconscious man on top of the platform. Two bows rested in her lap, one wooden, the other synthetic. Her hands touched the black one and she silently mourned for the man who’d held it – a man who’d never existed in the first place. She’d felt it, the surge of power that pulled all the magic the Shades had gleaned away from them, sending it…somewhere…

He’d met her eyes, calm in the face of his end. _“Here, take it,”_ he’d said, holding his bow out. _“It’s yours anyway.”_

The teenager could still feel the last traces of the Halloween spell in the bow, all but obliterated by that sacrifice of life and power. In a day, even the traces would be gone; the costumes would be just that again. It felt unjust, unfair, and plain _wrong_ – they had done something important, she could _sense_ it. Why should they pay for that with their lives? But what sort of life was it to be a Shade? To be little more than a costume?

“Alanna?”

She gasped, turning and gazing upwards. “Here, Uncle Wordy.”

Uncle Sam slithered down the ladder first. “How the heck did you get here?”

“I bet their magic warned ‘em about Sarge again,” Uncle Wordy opined, landing next to the unconscious man. “Sarge can scold you two all he wants later, but _nice timing_.”

Alanna nodded, hugging the bows to her chest. “Yeah, we saw,” she whispered. “He was…he was going to let that man kill him.”

Both of her pseudo uncles looked away at the anguish in her eyes. Then Uncle Sam huffed a sigh as he crouched next to the unconscious man. “Wasn’t expecting this,” he admitted, gazing up at the ladder. “How do we get him back _up_?”

“I could levitate him,” Alanna offered, pushing herself up carefully. Once back on her feet, the redhead hooked her bow to its quiver and glanced uncertainly down at the black bow still in her arms.

“I’ll take that,” Uncle Wordy decided, tugging the black bow away. “Sam, get up that ladder and guide him through the hole.”

“Copy,” Uncle Sam agreed, heading for the ladder. “You and ‘Lanna will be right behind me?”

“Yep. We get him up, then I pass you the bow. Then we’ll come up.” Uncle Wordy’s gaze switched to Alanna. “ _You_ first, missy.”

“Yes, Uncle Wordy.”

* * * * *

Greg’s pulse throbbed under his fingers, a slow, skipping beat that left Ed worrying his lower lip. But he was _breathing_. He was _alive_. The alien savagery had left his face and the gryphon fangs were nowhere in sight. His hands were still wrapped around the gun the ghost had slid to him – to the _gryphon_. A trap of some kind for the gryphon, Ed could see that now. No wonder the demon had shown up, trying to stop the ghost.

The team leader frowned, gently tugging the weapon away from his boss. Whatever it had done was finished. Then he paused, examining the sidearm more closely. What the…? “Greg, is this _your_ gun?”

No answer, not that he’d expected one.

But it _was_ Greg’s gun. One thumb rubbed at the soot-stained serial number, a number he knew by heart – after McKean, Ed had made sure to memorize all the serial numbers, in case there was ever another gun swap. This…this was the gun Greg had lost in the latest Halloween mess. The Narrows and the poison gas and the demolished monorail they’d _somehow_ avoided getting blamed for. The Glock was lighter than it should have been; Ed ejected the magazine, not all that surprised to find it empty. The gun itself was coated in debris from the fire, unreliable at best and non-operable at worst. To return it to service would require multiple cleanings and possibly a gunsmith.

Ed shifted back, letting out a huff as he glanced between the Glock and his boss. The gun tingled in his grasp, as if a trace of magic still lingered in the polymer. “What happened to you, Greg?” he wondered aloud. “What were they trying to pull?”

Parker’s silent, still form did not answer.

* * * * *

Spike reached Lance as the young man groaned and stirred. Sapphire blinked open and the teenager sat up carefully, catching the Skeets model as it tumbled off his chest. “Uncle Greg?”

“Ed’s checking him now, kiddo,” Spike reassured Lance, swiftly checking the teen for any bumps and bruises. “And what have we told you two about sneaking into the middle of hot calls?”

“Not to,” Lance mumbled, eyes finding the floor. Then indignation brought his head back up. “But he was gonna kill him, Uncle Spike!” Sapphire pleaded for understanding, for agreement that his decision had been the _only_ way.

Spike refused to yield. “And what about the gryphon, Lance? What was the _gryphon_ gonna do?”

The young man shivered. “It…it thought all of us belonged to it,” he managed. “I was trying to make it submit again and it just laughed at me.”

The bomb tech felt a similar shudder up his own spine. For a few seconds there, _he’d_ felt like he _belonged_ to the gryphon – and not in a good way. Dark eyes fell to the Skeets model. “Any idea how _those_ guys showed up?”

The brunet head shook. “I think it was Skeets who knocked me out,” he admitted, running one finger over the silent metal. “They…they must’ve been able to get magic from us each Halloween. Enough to manifest on their own.”

“And do what?”

Sapphire met his dark orbs. “Heck if _I_ know, Uncle Spike.”

* * * * *

“Lou, call the Healers,” Ed ordered. “I don’t want to move Greg until they get here.”

“Copy, Ed.”

“How’s Pownell doing?”

“He was already planning on spreading the security footage all over the Internet,” Lou replied coldly. “Threatened to _Obliviate_ him myself; I’m already collecting all the footage from today.”

“Good, we can seal everything under this call,” Ed agreed. Lou’s _actual_ threat might’ve been a bluff, but the team leader had little doubt that Giles would’ve obliged without batting an eyelash if it had been necessary.

“What about Collins?”

Lane shook his head. “Sam and Wordy reported in; he’s out cold and ‘Lanna says Blue Beetle did it. Once he wakes up, we’ll have a little chat.”

“That was freaky, man.”

“Tell me about it,” Ed breathed. “I don’t think we even know the half of it yet, Lou.” _What did they_ do _to you, Greg?_ “Once you call the Healers and get the footage, get Pownell out of here – if you even get a _whiff_ that he might break the Statute…”

“Copy that, Ed.”

Grim, the team leader’s attention returned to his boss. “Stay with us, Greg,” he ordered quietly. “You do not have permission to die.” _Not now. Maybe not_ ever _._

* * * * *

Greg Parker shivered as he stood on thin air in complete blackness. He was clothed; he could feel fabric under his fingers; but beyond that…he felt stripped bare. Nothing to protect him from scrutiny. Nothing to hide his faults and flaws. No masks, no bluffing, no acting to hide his own uncertainty. To hide his fear.

Alone. In the cold. In the dark.

_Where am I? And how do I get home?_

His magic was silent. His ‘team sense’ was gone.

_Please…I just want to go home…_

_~ Ad Alia_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To Be Continued... *cue closing _Flashpoint_ music*
> 
> Yep, I'm whumping Greg big time. Poor guy...how evil we authors can be to our favorite characters - over two stories, no less! Maybe a few more than two (like half my series...) Anyway. I hope everyone's enjoying so far and, as always, I adore reviews and I so appreciate all of you who are willing to spend a few minutes to leave me a review. Our next story, "Soul of a Gryphon", starts this Friday, May 1st 2020.
> 
> On a RL note, prayer is very much appreciated. I essentially worked from the time I got up to the time I was finally allowed to go to bed yesterday and today's not looking any better so far. I prayed so hard for this project and so far, it's been a job, but it's been the job that consumes my life and won't even leave me alone long enough to go grocery shopping on _Saturday!_
> 
> See You on the Battlefield!


End file.
